Worlds Beyond My Own Book One: Edd's Unlikely Team
by pancake094
Summary: When an old friend and new adversary threatens all of existence as we know it, Edd will use his newly-created gadgets to face this evil with the aid of three allies. In total, 4 heroes shall rise: Edd from his desk, a knight from his horse, a survivor from the wasteland, and a robot from his couch. Yes, you heard all of that right.
Worlds Beyond My Own

Book 1: Edd's Unlikely Team

My eyes have borne witness to many things that the rational will most certainly disregard as pseudo-scientific, fictional nonsense. This conclusion will most likely originate from the fact that my tale is, indeed, a pseudo-scientific work of fiction, and I myself am a fictional character. However, I find what I have endured to be, as far as I'll ever be concerned, far from nonsense, though another may disagree. I understand how it is: it's both as clear as day and as clear as mud, both certain and ambiguous, logical and illogical. It's a tale that simultaneously makes no sense and perfect sense. However, before I proceed too far into the boundaries of inclarity, I must first make several things clear.

In the eyes of the ordinary, I am a nerd. I am that child who browses the science section of the library like most would search through a collection of old comics. I count the ants in my farm twice daily, and I create logs of their behavior at that same interval. I constantly fiddle with my labeled chemistry set which sits on my labeled desk in my labeled room, and at one point I had succeeded in creating a soft drink that never lost its carbonation, though the results of its consumption were quite disastrous to say the least. I had even fixed my house with about two dozen mechanisms designed to improve the speed and efficiency of the preparation for the day. In fact, it would appear that my diligence has fooled my Mother and Father into believing that their time is not welcome in my schedule, which has been an incorrect assumption, thank you very much. I sincerely love my Mother and Father as much as any child would. But nevertheless, I have barely seen them at any moment for as long as I can recall, and the only method of communication between us has been through sticky notes. However, my intellect has not stopped me from making a couple of friends, both with mindsets far different from my own. One is a kind-hearted soul, quite strong in his muscles, though a tad weak in his mind. He has a passion for comic books and monster movies, and possesses a palate for buttered toast and gravy. The other has great ambition, although this drive has caused problems in the past. He uses this ambition to think of methods of achieving monetary gain in order to secure a certain sweet-tasting commodity. He originally accomplished, or rather, attempted to accomplish this through means of incredibly hare-brained "scams", most of which ended in utter disaster. However, after the grand misadventure that was our big movie, he has turned to much more honest means of obtaining wealth, such as selling lemonade in the summertime, caramel apples in the autumn, and at one point, even a semi-autobiographical novel, for which I received a large portion of the earnings, since I helped with his vocabulary. These endeavors have gone much better for us, and we have even earned enough to start our own savings accounts down at our local bank, so that we can purchase both sweets and other supplies at greater quantities than previously feasible. However, even now, although he treats others with much more respect than he had in the past, he only does what he does for the sake of monetary and aesthetic gain, rather than any fulfilling purpose.

At this point, one may wonder who, exactly, we are, although those who see us on television should be able to understand that we are easy to identify, all by one name.

Collectively, we are the Eds, and individually, we are Ed, Edd, and Eddy. Eddy is the one who romances money, the one who scarfs buttered toast is Ed with one D, and I am Edd with two D's, or as others call me, Double D.

We live in a cul-de-sac on the edge of a small city named Peach Creek. This end of the road is home to a variety of children, myself and my friends included. There's even a small farm where one of the circle's occupants, Rolf, tends to his family's animals and crops. In the city itself lies a candy store, a lane of wooden fence, a junkyard, a construction site, a playground, a bank where we deposit the earnings of our endeavors, other, less noteworthy shops, a community pool, a middle school, a factory that produces jawbreakers, the sweet commodity I spoke of, and essentially everything else a city like it could possess. There's also an area of woodlands not far northwest of the cul-de-sac, though it's not an area that is in Peach Creek's borders.

Although we may be seen as an ordinary group of whipper snappers by most in our community, as those who watch our show and our comics would see, we have been thrown into more insane situations than those in the average sitcom. We've followed a fake treasure map in a complete circle while Ed had fantasies of horror, explored a supposedly haunted house filled with dozens of booby traps, and even attempted to escape from school by means of a biplane that was constructed from supplies around the school, to name only three. At one point, we even joined forces with many others in our world to battle the combined forces of an evil genius, an intergalactic dictator, and a giant, shape-shifting demon in what came to be known as the Super Secret Crisis War. We ultimately emerged victorious, due in part to the foolishness of our enemies, and when we returned home, there were many pieces of our adversaries' robotic army in the junkyard for us to salvage. However, I only allowed Eddy to get his hands on a few unimportant pieces of alien metal plating; I kept their most impressive technology for my own study, and utilized what I had learned from doing so over 16 months to create a few machines of my own, including a working miniature UFO, a cloning device, and a mechanical pizza slicer. However, my most impressive creations, in my opinion at the time, were a robotic suit of armor and a computerized set of goggles.

The armor encases the wearer's entire body from the neck down in solid metal while having the ability to contain the entire body _including_ the head in an invisible force field, a design I made to prevent the suit from getting too stuffy. It is both less than 10 pounds in weight and proven to be capable of withstanding the explosive power of 75 500-liter vats containing mixtures of beric oxide and aqueous suspensions (it was in the script), being composed of an alien material combined with a tool-grade titanium alloy. It is completely EMP-hardened and can increase the wearer's strength and speed by up to 300 times through means of a system of hydraulics that nobody I know other than myself has been proven to comprehend. The armor also houses a set of expandable pockets created with a fascinating extraterrestrial technology that allows them to contain an infinite amount of objects without adding to the suit's weight. Little else is part of the suit, other than some laser beams, missile launchers made with intergalactic molecular duplication technology to prevent running out of ammunition, a set of jet boosters made with the same technology to prohibit the loss of fuel, a grappling hook in case the boosters are somehow put out of service, and an electromagnetic pulsar gun to disable electronics and air vehicles.

The goggles allow its wearer access to all forms of the Internet, and also comes equipped with binocular zoom and focus, night vision, infrared sight, a function that allows one to see through anything except 3 centimeters or more of lead, DNA and molecular scanners, a fingerprint identification system, a small compartment that dispenses antibiotic solution, a small microphone and a pair of earbuds for translating foreign languages... isn't alien technology simply delightful?

When I first created both of these devices, I hoped that they could be used in the military and perhaps even the police force, for their power would certainly make any obligatory mission a cakewalk. I had not a single idea of what use I could have had.

Anyway, even though I had built these myself and tested them with Ed's patient assistance, an unnamed prototype I had constructed utilizing the robots' transdimensional technology was yet to be tested... yet to be, that is, until exactly two weeks before the beginning of the story I spoke of exactly eight paragraphs ago.

I was sitting down at the lab in my room that cold autumn night experimenting with the hydraulics of the suit to see if there was any way to make them any more powerful, but I did so to no avail. A minuscule tweak which pinched my nerves, a grand adjustment which made me strain, and still, no positive change to be had. No matter how I changed the suit, the hydraulics didn't grow stronger by any significant interval, and at a few points, they even became weaker.

Practically foaming at my lips in my frustration after resetting the suit to its original condition, I brought my uncovered fist down upon the untested dimension device, wholeheartedly desiring to smash it to its inert components.

My rage suddenly transmogrified into agony as I held my injured hand, and then into shock and awe as the minuscule box shuddered to consciousness. A hum which gradually grew in pitch, a clank which made my heart skip a beat, a rattle that shook the earth, the assault of a blinding, white light...

I opened my eyes and stared in disbelief through the gaping hole in the wall projected by the tiny machine which sat on my desk.

Through the hole, I saw a small creature: one that looked like a cross-breed between a man and a beaver. Over the orange fur which covered its short body and its surprisingly large head, it wore a yellow hard hat which covered its ears, a tool belt which straddled its waist, and a pair of work gloves which shielded its hands. On its face were a wide mouth with buck teeth, a small, pink nose in the shape of a Valentine heart, and a pair of eyes that each seemed to hold no iris and only about 93 percent of a pupil, and attached to its lower back was its long, flat tail. At the time, however, I couldn't see its legs or feet. It stood next to what appeared to be a table saw near what I perceived to be a skyscraper under construction, and the light and warmth of the day it stood in flooded into the frigid darkness of my bedroom. It seemed as though it was in the process of grabbing another wooden board for cutting, and as I could see on its cute face, it was just as surprised as I was.

I stared at it.

It stared at me.

I blinked.

It blinked twice.

Then, in the strangest gesture I thought, at the time, possible, it raised its right hand and began to steadily wave at me through the hole crafted from the device as its open mouth changed into an awkward smile. Not wishing to add anymore tension to the situation, I raised my right hand and waved back.

"Uhhh... 'ood 'or'in'," it did its best to utter.

"Clearly," I thought to myself, "This creature is not very fluid in its speech." In that moment, I could easily tell that it was attempting to say "Good morning," although it was late in the night in the world where I stood, but, afraid that I wouldn't be so lucky with its next words, I used the otherworldly light to find my goggles on my desk, placing its lenses over my eyes and its buds in my ears. I can say that I must have looked quite absurd to the organism, as it then began to laugh at me in its high-pitched squeak of a voice just as I adjusted the goggles on my face. Never had I tested the translating capabilities on any otherworldly dialect, but there's a first time for all things, is there not?

It didn't utter anything else other than its laughter until it took a glance at the device on my desk: the device which allowed us to see each other.

"Ooh, what's this?" I heard from my earbuds. Seeing that the translation was a success, I parted my lips to make an attempt to determine whether the creature could understand English, but stopped short when I saw it reach through the hole and take the device into its hands.

I panicked. If the device was sensitive enough to turn on simply by being struck with my fist, who was to say it was not also sensitive enough to cause severe damage to this creature's reality if it did more than that? I could tell by the look in its eyes that it wished to figure out how it worked, possibly by disassembling it with the tools of its belt, like its drill and its hammer, which were readily available, combined with its strength, which would have certainly been greater than that in my own arms, as its arms were definitely accustomed to heavy loads of wood, cement, and metal. It would have to be this way if it worked the way it did in the hot sun.

In the terror of the knowledge of this possibility, I swiped the little box out of the clutches of the creature, grabbing its top, and peered down- just in time to see the power button which I had installed right where my fist once landed and my hand now was.

Right then and there, the portal rapidly shrunk like the iris which closed out the adventures in my world, and the last thing I saw just before it closed over the critter's wrists was a shocked expression on its sweet face.

Its gloved hands fell from the wall and onto my desk. Their fingers twitched, shuddered, and finally fell still, and a dark pool spread across the wooden surface harboring a threat of stains to both label and carpet.

My pupils shifted from desk to device, then from device to desk, back and forth, with one phrase repeating in my shaken mind:

"What have I done?"

I had acted upon the reckless emotions of the instant, and in doing so, I had left an adorable creature with a permanent disability. Furthermore, if it told the truth of what had happened, who would believe it? It wouldn't help its case that it was standing next to a table saw when it had occurred. Never again would it possess the strength it once had in its grueling occupation. No more would it be able to give simple greetings, precise directions, or even impolite gestures if it truly wished to do so, although that last possibility would have been nigh impossible, for there was no malice of any kind in its innocent demeanor. It would not even be able to sign its own name, if it had one, on any kind of a check should his world have had any form of a welfare system. On the cruel streets it would forever remain, hungry, cold, lonely, beaten, downtrodden, unwell, perishing-

"Oh, Lord, what have I done?!" I screamed into the unforgiving darkness, my tears transforming into rapid streams.

All at once, I immediately fell silent.

I listened.

I prayed.

No footsteps, no voices, no judges come for my head.

I let out a sigh of an insignificant relief into the frigid air. I had not woken Mother and Father.

I decided that nobody other than myself should live with the knowledge of what had occurred on that night. That innocent being's blood was on my hands, and so that reality brought more pain to me than any punishment I could ever receive from anybody. Feeling the full weight of that kind of pain in that creature's memory was a cross that I was more than willing to bear.

Moving as silently as I possibly could have at the time, I moved my feet to the closet downstairs, bringing back upstairs a bottle of all-purpose cleaner and a fresh rag. I scrubbed the surface of the desk clean, possibly using three quarters of the bottle's worth of cleaner in the process, and placed the severed hands in a shoebox which lay in my closet. I then brought the stained rag to the basement and shoved it to the very bottom of the largest basket I could find.

Finally, with the knowledge of the deed being completed, I travelled back up the staircase to my bedroom. I spun the dials of the device to a completely random setting, flopped down onto my bed, pulled the covers over my body, and for what felt like the longest of times, I stared restlessly at the door of my closet and the tiny machine on my desk.

"Perhaps, just perhaps," I thought to myself before drifting off to an uneasy slumber, "I can convince myself that this was all a dream."

The two weeks that followed were mostly, as most would say, business as usual. Ed, Eddy, and I collectively made two dollars and 25 cents one day through selling warm cider at a value of 25 cents per serving, since some of the other kids purchased two servings or more. Another day, we set up a small campfire with the help of Eddy's father, near which we sold s'mores, also for 25 cents each. Eddy's father even showed during this event that he could play a guitar and play it well. A third day, the Kanker Sisters went on their periodic rampage throughout the cul-de-sac, so Rolf helped the other Eds and I by allowing us to hide in his cellar with him. The rest of the time was quite uneventful, but not without time for my guilt. No matter how I tried to put the disaster with the portal device out of my mind, I could not help but think back to that cursed night. That creature's face, its twitching, disembodied hands… those very images were what stayed in my vicinity with the effectiveness of the stench of blood. As a matter of fact, I found that the harder I tried to forget about it, the more I found myself remembering, and the more I pressured myself not to have thoughts about it, the more thoughts I had. Still, I knew then that I could not just destroy the machine. If I was incorrect in my assumption of its sensitivity, then perhaps if it was used with much more caution than I had in my possession at the time, it could make for harmless exploration of other worlds, perhaps even education. However, unlike the incident of the night I spoke of, I _had_ forgotten something else, or rather, someone else, and had I known what that someone would do, I would have done the very thing I had every intention of doing when my fist first struck that calamitous cube.

I was playing on the swings at the playground, again trying in vain to put the mentioned event out of my brain, when suddenly I heard a loud, snarky voice calling my name in a panicked manner. I gradually brought my swing to a halt and looked towards the direction of the call to find Kevin, the neighborhood star athlete, riding his bike a short distance before throwing it down into the grass and running towards me the rest of the required distance. He was staring at a piece of paper in his hand with a fixed expression of mortal terror. Just to remind you, Kevin isn't the kind to be easily frightened.

Deciding to be social to prevent suspicion, I stood up and inquired what the matter was.

"Sorry to answer with another question, pal," he said after a short moment of tired panting,"but do you remember Johnny 2x4?"

I told him that I indeed remembered, now that he had mentioned him. He was a bit of what some would refer to as an oddball, often performing improvised songs and dances and always carrying around a smiley-faced wooden board which he gave the name of Plank, or Splinter the Wonderwood whenever he took on his vigilante persona, Captain Melonhead. However, the only time I ever saw him around town since the Big Picture Show was through my bedroom window, and he always seemed to be in a sort of angered funk, as most would say. Furthermore, after the Crisis War, Johnny 2x4 seemingly vanished off of the face of the earth.

"That's right," Kevin said after I informed him of my memories. "Every source we could find with any info about him says he's dead. Even the obituaries. But look at this!" He proceeded to hand me the note which brought terror to him of all people, and I took it and ran my line of sight upon the text.

"Double D," it read. "Thank you for giving us a great idea two weeks ago. All this time, we have been watching the neighborhood from our lair, waiting for something we could use to get revenge upon the entire cul-de-sac, but up to this point, found nothing. But then, that night, your little slip-up gave us a greater idea than we ever thought could be: if nobody in _this_ world will join us, who's to say that we won't have better luck in another? We decided it best that this is a fair fight, so if you want to follow us, you are more than welcome to do so. We used your cloning device to create a working copy of your portal machine. The original one is still in your room, and it's settings are the same as before. I wouldn't be too worried if I were you. It'll be just like a rousing game of hide and seek. Won't this be fun? On that note, I wish you good luck. You're gonna need it!

Sincerely,

The Gourd and Timber the Dark Shard."

I stared at the period laying at the end of the letter, and I felt what's under my hat turn white.

"Looks like he's still kinda sore about what happened at the end of our big movie," Kevin stated, now with shame rather than fear,"and for that, I am sorry."

At that, I decided that it would be best to ask of what brought him to my humble abode, as that was something he didn't usually do.

"I was riding my bike around when I saw a white light flashing through your bedroom window. I rode over to see what was up, and I found that note on your front door. To be honest with ya, I kinda figured that he'd use your tech: you made some pretty extraordinary things from those robo-bits you found in the junkyard. The question is, why's he challengin' you and _only_ you?"

Even in my shock, I had to admit that this _was_ quite peculiar. I told Kevin that I couldn't tell for certain, but I could hypothesize that Johnny wished to face who he believed to be the most intelligent among us first, so that if he were to be victorious, the rest of the cul-de-sac would have nobody to effectively strategize against him.

"I see," Kevin replied. "But I fail to see how fighting somebody like you could be considered a fair fight for anybody. No offense."

"No offense have I taken," I answered. "Perhaps he's referring to my suit?"

"You mean that metal jumpsuit-type thing you showed us all not too long ago?" Kevin replied. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure. That thing is quite something."

At this, I asked if he also knew of the goggles, to which he gave a very similar response to his previous two sentences.

"What do you think he'd do if he would ever actually get what he's lookin' for?" inquired Kevin, at which I stated that the results of bringing creatures from the transdimensional plane into ours could very well be far too horrific to convey in the English language, or any, for that matter.

"Well, then," Kevin proceeded to command,"if that's true, then you'd better get a move on! The fate of, y'know, the whole stinkin' multiverse is on the line!"

With that, I thought of asking him to come with me, but I decided that no more people than necessary had to risk their lives for the weight which perched itself like two obese turkeys on my frail shoulders. So, I, this world's glorious knight, returned home with haste to start my quest, suiting myself in my shining armor and placing my all-knowing eyes, earbuds included, underneath my cap. I placed a collection of potentially useful items into the bottomless pockets of the suit, including but not limited to a first aid kit, a notepad, a pocket knife, and an unusual boomerang that my friends and I had discovered during one of our earlier adventures, being sure to hold it with metal over my hands, so as not to suffer its effects. If you had seen that episode, you would know for certain what those effects are. Anyhow, with myself now suited for this sudden pursuit, I began to take the cursed, wondrous box into my hands.

The box.

At that instant, I remembered, and I thought: if that creature wishes to receive its restitution, what better time to do so than on this very journey?

Certainly, I'd have to revisit its world at some point, yes?

So, placing the device down, I opened my closet, taking out the box containing the beaver creature's dismembered hands and sticking it in one of my suit's pockets. Then, now feeling readied for whatever could possibly come of my journey, I repossessed the device, looking down upon the power button, the part which I had so foolishly designed, the part for which my mission was penance. Staring into that red circle, I jammed my right index finger onto its surface, just as a fork enters cooked meat, and watched as it turned a sickly shade of green. The hum, the rattle, the clank, the light, it all went exactly as it had before. All I could do at that moment was close my eyes and whisper a short prayer that Johnny was being honest.

I peeled my eyes and peered through the portal to see what appeared to be a small village. The sun was shining in this village, just like in the city I saw in the previous world, but unlike said world, this one appeared to be populated by ordinary human beings, along with about 27 non-anthropomorphic animals. I perceived it to be blessed with an Old World charm, mostly containing simple houses, little farms, dinky inns and giant windmills, mainly composed of wood, straw, and tiny bits of stone. All of these things appeared to have been drawn, or rather, painted, in a much more realistic style than anything in my native world. It seemed as if, in comparison, the man who sketched my being wished only to make a simple dollar, rather than place any kind of emotion into it. For that, I felt a tad ashamed all the more.

I took in a deep breath, looking back at my room for what could very well have been the last time, and stepped through the wormhole onto the artfully crafted dirt road beyond, deactivating the machine upon doing so, so as not to attract too much more attention than I already brought to myself. Armored suits enhancing human abilities other than durability could not possibly have existed at this time as anything more than an insane dream, you know. I took in the sensation of the breeze soiled by the reek of old stables and ashen sweat, and took my first steps down the long avenue, looking around for Johnny, or better yet, for a clue of what world he could have gone to from here.

Oddly, as I strolled along, very few of the peasants, the innkeepers, or even many of the patrolling guards seemed to take my presence as anything unusual. I'd say that it could have been due to the shape and size of the suit, which is approximate to that of one of steel plate armor subtracting any mail or helmet. As a matter of fact, quite a few people failed to take my presence as anything, period. They talked amongst themselves, often in a rushed manner, acting in tandem with the shocking news which rushed throughout the countryside. Out of simple curiosity, I shortened my pace and opened my ears towards one particular couple of guards riding throughout town on their steeds, for whom I moved to the side.

"Have you not heard?" asked one.

"I'm ashamed to say I have not, but here I ride with honesty on my tongue," the other replied.

"It is Sanson Carrasco!" replied the asker. "He has vanished!"

"The student from down the way?" the other asked. "Hold your tongue, my friend. If this is true, this would be the first disappearance of a sane man in the history of this village!"

"And the first time it is!" the first stated. "We would have a division known for their eyes if it had not been that he is gone without any trace to be had! It is as if he had suddenly ceased to exist!"

I raised an eyebrow.

I had never heard of this Carrasco in my world at any point, and based on the way that the watchmen described him, he didn't sound like anybody who would wish to bring harm to anybody. After all, the guards did say that he was sane. And yet, he disappeared without a trace... just like somebody would have if he had gone through a hole in time and space. The previous moment I checked, Johnny was the only one besides me who was in possession of a device that would have allowed this to occur. But why Johnny would just take a random citizen off the street for his plan for vengeance was beyond any knowledge stowed in my mind.

After I thought this through, I looked up to find myself approaching a house much larger than those which I had previously passed. Its finely painted exterior gave it the appearance of a silver castle embroidered in fine lace overlooking a kingdom of rotting haystacks called houses, it's eyes being windows enlightened with a soft, orange glow.

Surely, I speculated, nobody less than one of the wealthiest and the wisest could have ever resided in a home like this during this period.

That's when I heard what sounded like a struggle occurring behind the structure.

Fearing for somebody to sustain too great of an injury, I quickly moved around the house to find a man in a full suit of armor and a short lance strapped over his back furiously swinging and stabbing his sword at a sack of seeds. Oddly, both his armor and his weapons were apparently of an earlier age than the guards I had passed on my way to his manor. As I moved closer, I could see, to my surprise, that the man was in the process of approaching his golden years. The skin of his face held the light and shallow beginnings of wrinkles and liver spots, and his hair was evidently a dark shade of gray. On his face hung a long beard supported by a thin mustache, and above them both, there sat a nose, small, triangular, and stout, and a pair of light brown, lemon-shaped eyes. Despite his age, however, he brought his foil down upon the bag he was battering with a strength and a passion that I could not muster within my own being. He fought the sack and the seeds it contained as if he was fighting not just for himself or the village he stood in, but rather, was fighting for the good and the beauty found throughout his entire world.

Then, all at once, with the roar of a dragon forcing itself from his lungs, the warrior sent one final cut, starting high at his right and ending near his left foot, straight through the burlap, spilling its innards onto the hard ground.

"May this be experience for you!" the man shouted after a short moment of catching his breath. "Should you ever have a quarrel with the good which lies in this world, you shall then have a quarrel with Don Quixote de La Mancha!"

With that, he shuffled over to a nearby tree stump, sitting down for a brief rest after the triumph won by his blade.

However, rather than just leave him be, I was bewildered enough by this man's display of strength and valiance against this bag of plant particles to stand by until he took notice of my presence.

And after a period of deep breaths and silent prayer take notice did he, and based on the expression which appeared upon his visage, he was as astonished to see a young man of my artistic style as I was to see a world composed in his.

"Ah! With my eyes, a fellow knight I see!" this Quixote person said between breaths with a mixture of surprise and jubilation, quickly scanning an impressed gaze over my armored suit. "You are clearly of a land distant from mine! (And my, how flat you do appear.) Which valiant quest of yours has brought you to this lowly village which I call home?"

"Valiant, is it?" I thought. "That's very kind, but he doesn't know the truth."

"I do indeed come from a world that is far from yours," I answered him. "I'm from a land where intelligence is recognized just as much as power, but wherever one is flaunted, the other is shunned. It's my duty, an individual scorned by fate, to hopefully bring both of these things together, so that peace may exist throughout all of the lands, planning to do so through both confidence and caution, faith and intellect."

"Goodness!" Don exclaimed. "At last, I have found a soul as steadfast as my own! Perhaps you could assist me in the greatest puzzle I've yet faced. Come! Make haste, brother!"

With that, I followed Mister Quixote into the manorial fort which he referred to as his abode. As we moved throughout the maze of hallways towards the knight's study, I could not refuse to constantly glance about at each line on the walls, all of the colors of the candles' flame, and every fiber in the rugs which enrobed the floor, all appearing to have been sketched and pigmented down to their finest details. At long last, we stepped through the doorway which connected the beauty of the hall to the nearly unsoiled glory of the study. High, vaulted ceilings and ornate wooden shelves housing volumes of science, culture, romance, and too many more genres than I could determine. A set of cushioned chairs, a luxury for this time period, sat near the fireplace, which itself emitted a seemingly omnipresent warmth which stretched itself to all corners of the room and into the hallway, a stark contrast from the almost certain chill in the huts which dotted the countryside. The only thing which seemed to partially mark the beauty was a pile of ashes which sat near a nearly bare bookcase, but even that was crafted with the same beauty which graced all else in this world.

"Look here, brother!" Mister Quixote called from a small table near the middle of the room, beckoning me out of my wonder. I journeyed over to the stool upon which the man was seated, where I saw him stewing over a small slip of parchment. Upon it was written the following in black ink:

 _ **GTA-#42624-135**_. It was a written code: one which, unlike Mister Quixote, I could understand almost immediately.

They were settings for the interdimensional teleporter's coordinates.

"You see, brother," Mister Quixote explained, "My squire, Sancho, had gone over to the abode of a Sanson Carrasco, only to find that the man had disappeared! It was his bed on which this strange text laid. Would you happen to understand this odd language? It is of no land I currently know."

I told him that I indeed could decipher the code, and then I pulled out the device, at which Mister Quixote gazed upon with an expression that suggested a combination of confusion, awe, and curiosity.

"I understand that you may be shocked by what you are about to witness," I explained to him, still well aware of the time period I stood in. "However, it will be far from witchcraft. Witchcraft attempts to utilize the energies of otherworldly evils to only create effects to satisfy one's own selfish ambitions. But what you shall momentarily behold is a process of using some of the matter in one's own world to produce effects which, while extremely dangerous in the hands of fools and maniacs, is extremely beneficial when tooled with by minds of great intelligence. What you shall see is what those in my homeland refer to as 'science'."

"Ah, yes!" Don exclaimed. "What those in _my_ land call science has allowed us to mill corn at a much faster rate than in past times simply using the breath of the wind! It is known throughout the land as a 'windmill', although I'm not certain of whether I have seen this marvel before."

"Well, my friend," I replied, "my land's science is far different from yours. Observe." I aimed the tiny projector at the wall behind me, set the dials to the settings given on the paper, and applied pressure to the power button.

Again it rattled, again it clanked, and again it shone its pale light, at which Don jumped in utter shock, not that it surprised me in any way. He yelped, staring open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the chasm which implanted itself into his study. In the world beyond the portal stood a city of short sleeves, cellular phones, and skyscrapers which dwarfed the trees of any forest. It was not unlike a city I had seen in my world, aside from appearing to have been made from a video game engine, somewhat similar to how my world appeared in a few games in the past, but it was a sight which displayed itself to Don Quixote for the first time in his existence.

He screamed at me, demanding to know what this was, and I quickly took to explaining to him the nature of the portal: how it was a bridge between worlds, how its technology could only be possible in my world and time to craft, and how it could allow one to spread his influence outside of his own dimension, both positive and negative.

"You see, a rival who could have once been considered a friend is using a copy of the device that I had created to attempt to bring the unjust of other worlds to his cause, a cause which has placed my home, and possibly all other worlds, on the brink of the abyss," I stated. "It is my mission, for which I have volunteered, to prevent this multiversal decimation, and possibly to prohibit evil in other worlds while doing so. In this sense, we are both knights. I have my quest, and you have yours," I finished, still wanting to travel alone.

However, at this point, Don seemed to have calmed down about all of this, despite being still astonished at both the portal and the sight beyond, and offered to join me.

"We both have the same quest," he told me, "and that quest is to bring justice to places where there could very well be none, to grant rescue to all places tainted by evil's influence. I once believed that I was alone in this endeavor, but I have met one who would step outside the boundaries of his own reality to accomplish such a mission. No man, not the bravest, not the strongest, not the wisest, could ever hope to do this alone. Thus, we must accomplish this journey together."

I thought about this. I was indeed outmatched, with Johnny having taken a minion from this world. I decided that although this Don

Quixote was of a time quite different from mine, he could very well be a valuable ally anywhere I must travel. His devotion and his shown skill in swordplay proved this much. With this in mind, I agreed to allow him to travel alongside me, though only under several conditions.

"In the worlds outside of yours, it is almost certain that we will come across those with appearances and viewpoints different from yours, but these things do not suggest corruption," I explained. "No matter what they look like or what they might do, you must remember that they are not our enemies unless they wish to end our lives or force us to act against our wills or our quest, regardless of whether or not we explain ourselves."

"Brother, I am willing to follow in this quest no matter what I must change in myself," Don replied. "However, one question remains."

"What's that?" I asked.

"What should I call you?" he asked in response to my question. I gave it a short moment's processing.

"Call me Eddward," I replied. Don nodded.

"Sir Eddward it shall be!" he said excitedly. And so, with lasers and lance, with suits and sword, and with goggles and gauntlet, we both took our steps into the chasm, moving from the artistic world of old to the strange and modernized place of a new age.

All four of our feet touched down upon the mysterious substance that the modern call concrete, and I closed the portal once again, the portal which appeared to implant itself on the outer wall of a sort of convenience store. This was evidently no world I had ever seen, no matter how modern it was. The humans looked similar to Don, with tall bodies and short, oval-shaped heads featuring mountain-like noses, long, curved ears, wide mouths with prominent lips, and eyes shaped like lemons. However, as previously mentioned, they all appeared computerized, seeming to have been given a specialized code for each individual body part. The surrounding world appeared to be open to exploration, at least mostly, with plenty of freedom to run, jump, and basically do anything else one could desire to do in such a place.

I smiled a brief grin.

"This will be quite like the Mis-Edventures I experienced on the GameCube!" I thought. Just then, a thunderous roar entered our ears and shook the earth beneath our feet, almost forcing us to the pavement. We stood up straight again to find a group of people, all wearing short pants and shirts with little to no sleeves running away from the area to our right, screaming in horror and uttering some of the foulest language we had ever heard. It seemed as though they were using the f-word like most would use the word "a". We immediately looked over to the area from which these people fled to see a destroyed luxury car, black in the cover of its red flames, with the charred body of the driver inside, showing no signs of life whatsoever.

We both exchanged terrified glances towards each other, with Don seeming especially shaken, and then back to the automobile.

"I stand corrected," I thought.

At that moment, a police car came into view, it's red and blue lights flashing as a warning to clear the area. On its side was printed "Los Santos Police Department. Obey and Survive."

In my mind, this didn't seem quite correct. In the world from which I originate, the saying has always been "Protect and Serve", a slogan which our officers did their absolute best to uphold. In fact, based on the expression on this officer's face when he stepped outside of the car, it seemed as though he would take the greatest possible pleasure in shattering somebody's skull before fabricating some sort of pathetic reason for doing so. Are these not the kinds of people whom the police are supposed to be arresting?

At any rate, he wandered over to the now smoldering car, briefly scanning it over, bending down, and picking up a briefcase, the only thing which seemed to escape the carnage unscathed. Opening the lid, he pulled out a small piece of yellow paper, glanced at it for a second or two, then rolled his eyes, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it to the ground before pulling a small, rectangular object out of his pocket. Absolutely disgusted by this character's display of apathy, I moved over to inspect the now crumpled slip, and Don, having completed a solemn prayer for the victim of this most tragic incident, strolled up to speak with the officer about what had occurred, at which he was rudely informed that the Renaissance Fair is next week and called a "jackass", not even paying much attention to his out-of-place art style, probably due to his Artificial Intelligence. At this, Don informed him that he was not, in any respect, a donkey, at which the officer gave him a look of unshakable confusion. Then, Don looked down and stared at the thing which the officer held in his hands, bearing a face whose eyes had just seen everything.

"What in all the lands is this beheld thing?!" Don belted following a moment's silence.

"I-It's my phone….Ohhhhhh," the officer stated, sarcastically extending his hand. "Well, I bid you welcome to the twenty-first century."

"The twenty-first century!" Don shouted excitedly. "Oh, what great changes have occurred over the course of the world's aging! Where once a message took days, weeks, or perhaps even months to deliver, one can in this time deliver the exact same message in mere minutes by simple touch!"

"Uhhh...yeah," the officer said, nodding slowly.

"One can only dream of what grand, technological adventure could emerge following the next sunrise! For what existed as nothing more than a delusion where I call home exists here not only in reality, but commonplace!" Don exclaimed looking about at those who sent text messages on similar phones while walking down the sidewalk, all of whom were dashing and yelling like spooked hens just moments before.

As Don continued his talk of the marvels of this world, including the lights on the officer's car and the concrete beneath him, I collected the piece of paper from the road, flattening it and reading its contents.

It was another set of coordinates, this one being _**DNY-#87652-001**_. It appeared as though Johnny had made the erroneous decision of placing the task of discretion into the hands of a reckless driver.

For a moment, I was quite surprised that anything like this could be taken this easily, and I took that moment to enter the coordinates into the machine.

Suddenly, my flat ears received the noises of a loud, trumpeting roar, a scream from Don, and finally the crunch of twisted metal.

I turned in the direction of the sounds to find that Don had whipped out his blade and sent a deep cut into the front of a hulking delivery truck, which had blared its horn directly into his ear.

"My," I said to myself. "He's stronger than I previously expected."

Right then and there, the officer dropped his phone to the pavement and pulled out his nightstick, as though he had been programmed for this moment.

"Down on the ground, dickweed!" he shouted at Don before striking him in his helmet, quite stupidly, may I add. Don, though appearing dazed for a second or so following the smack, afterwards drew his sword from the damaged vehicle and caught the officer across the chest with its blade, and the previously yelling constable toppled into an inanimate heap.

However, I wasn't as shocked as I normally would be. For the record, this puppet of a man did attempt to end one of our lives, or perhaps force said life to act against his will, and even if we explained ourselves, it seemed as though his artificial intelligence would have prevented him from listening. So, in conclusion, this man, as well as probably all other police in this forsaken city, was therefore an enemy. Besides that, unlike the way it felt in regards to the creature I met when the device first awoke, it felt sickeningly pleasant to view a man of a digitally installed nature of violence take his final breath. However, it didn't feel as though some force in this world was placing this emotion inside of me, but rather, it felt like said force had brought something out from inside of myself which had been waiting all this time to surface at that very moment, as though witnessing this demise was something that I had secretly been waiting for.

Just then, I saw three additional police cars travel around the corner onto the street where we stood. All of their occupants seemed identical in appearance and personality to the one whom Don had just ended, which was unsurprising, considering the fact that we stood in the world of a video game.

And so, I felt a decision inside me that it wouldn't be unwise to travel to our next destination or to teach these empty-minded fools a lesson or two, nor would it be so to do both at once!

"Stop moving, or we'll shoot!" one of the cloned cops shouted at Don.

"Oh, how unwise!" I heard myself utter. "It would be far preferable if _I_ fire and _you_ cease motion!"

As the officers looked at me in confusion, I raised my arm and let fly a missile from its weaponized gauntlet, and all three cars erupted into a red and black inferno, along with all officers who so happened to be standing in their vicinity.

All, that is, except one, who was pushing himself off of the ground, his back stained with his own blood. It was a fluid which I don't usually see in my world, mainly due to the durability of its inhabitants, but I indeed knew what it was from the sight, having once seen some during Eddy's first booster shot, and more during the device's first doomed usage. Pulling out his walkie talkie, he shouted of the desperate need for air support, and shortly after, my ears perceived the noise of a helicopter's rotor in the distance. In all honesty, this all was planned by my mind, though one shouldn't ask me how. At any rate, after ending another brainless being utilizing a laser from my index finger, I stepped on my own left foot, activating the jet boosters on both soles. I then shot towards Don, who, needless to say, was quite startled by what I was currently capable of, grabbing him around the waist and blasting into the air just as the helicopter came upon us. In the blink of an eye, I flew with Don underneath the chopper to its rear, being careful to dodge its back propellor, and then darted away as it began its turn to face us again. But then, another chopper took off after us, and another, and yet another.

However, the more who chased us, I knew, the greater the chance could be for this diversion to be successful.

With a screaming Don Quixote under my arm, I flew around the area, searching for a suitable place to both project the portal and teach the citizens where their hard-earned incomes were currently going. I travelled over a gargantuan city, a dense redwood forest, a vast desert, and three sandy beaches without finding such a location. At one point, I almost flew straight into a tree which seemed to appear out of nowhere.

At long last, I discovered just the place nearing the end of a long pier. I felt my face curl into a grin, reaching my free hand towards the device in the hand whose arm held Don aloft.

It was time for a final act that I prayed this city called Los Santos would never soon forget.

I weaved in and out of a small track system, dodging its train full of people, flew out over the ocean water, and then turned and activated the machine, aiming it at a large structure of spokes and baskets.

The portal opened on its center just as the helicopters' missiles locked on target. With no time to waste, I blasted into the cloudy interior of the portal, closing it just before the missiles' transdimensional passage.

I had tricked these monsters who referred to themselves as "the just few" into opening their fire on the pier's Ferris wheel.

In doing so, I felt I had done enough to try to prove to the citizens of Los Santos that what these machines of men called "justice" possessed no other definition in their minds than killing who they're programmed to see as hooligans, even if it would lead to innocent destruction.

But then again, I took to considering, if the rest of the citizens' AIs causes them to be as uncaring as these officers, it could be that they might just go right back to what they were previously doing after a brief moment of panic.

In fact, now that I had left that world, I felt a desire to know the entirety of that which had come over me.

Regardless of that, these people did indeed intend to end us, or at least to stop us from completing our journey. It is this journey which overtakes all other importances, so I decided that while we ought to keep as low of a profile as we possibly can, in the end, we couldn't afford to allow even laws to cease our action.

I made this decision in time to hear that Don had ceased his unintelligible screeches, but now asked me whether or not this was more science in a loud voice, to which I gave confirmation just as the clouds broke around us.

In the distance before us stood a large, no, a humongous castle; not a castle-like structure as was Don's manor, but rather, a legitimate castle, with masses of towers, turrets, walls, and gates, and atop the highest tower was a golden pennant fluttering in a wind not felt by either of us. A long, snow-white bridge spanning a winding stream led up to its primary entrance, and directly above the whole of the structure, a set of fireworks were painting their vibrant colors all over the atmosphere.

Then, to top all of this off, what seemed to be a shooting star flew in an arc overhead, giving the ground below the name of "Walt Disney."

However, we couldn't afford to soak in these images for too long. A castle this large would certainly take a long time to search. So, landing near the gate and setting Don back on his own feet, we entered the monolithic place through the front gate… and stared at the emptiness of its interior. What appeared to be made of masoned stone from its bridge was, in reality, a convincing prop composed of hollowed, rotting wood.

"What fool would construct a royal palace from such material as this?" Don asked. I informed him that I had no answer. In all honesty, all it seemed to have purpose for was theatrical performance. Only on the dirt floor was there anything we held particular interest in. It was there where we found a replica of the building drawn in a chalk-like substance, with an arrow pointing at the flag on top. Another arrow pointed towards my right, where I saw a tall ladder heading directly upward. For fear of starting a fire, I didn't wish to use my boosters again, so, taking a deep breath, and instructing Don to follow, so as to prevent him from possible capture, I grabbed the first rung of the ladder with an unbreaking, metallic grasp.

Clank, clank, clank, went the ladder.

We heard the fireworks overhead, gradually sounding louder.

Clank, clank, clank.

We reached the outside world to find that the ladder still continued. We also detected a whirring noise overhead.

Clank, clank, clank- BOOM!

The sound of the fireworks not far from my head nearly startled me to a clumsy bout of pain, but looking down, I saw that Don had not even flinched.

Apparently, what occurred during our time in the previous world shocked him more than anything in another could.

Clank, clank, boom, clank, clank, boom, all the way up to the summit of the tallest tower of this faux fortress, about 115 feet from the bottom.

Standing on its roof looking at the flag, which blew in what I determined to be a distant, powerful electric fan, we could see that on its rear was yet another code: _**FAF-#18594-343**_. Making haste, I readjusted the machine to this setting.

Just then, the wind which caused the flag to wave began to speed up from the east, and then the west, and then the east once again, back and forth, as though the fans causing it were faultily wired, and we felt what we stood on sway beneath us. Then, the tower beneath us caved in on one decayed side, and we began to plummet towards the hard soil.

Only by my hand grabbing Don's ankle and Don driving his sword into an adjacent tower's walls were the entireties of both of our suits and one of our lives spared.

"Hold fast, Eddward!" Don shouted. I did, and so did he.

I looked up to find that the blade of Don's sword was horizontal in its position, preventing us from sliding down the crumbling wall. In this case, we had only one option, and planting the wormhole on the ground below, I knew this well.

We had to drop from the wall, an action of which I informed Don with a serious air.

And so, releasing my grasp, I fell from my area, feeling the storm of air around me racing one million miles an hour.

The portal in my sight rapidly grew bigger, larger, closer, until my form passed through into the world beyond. Just as my entire body had entered, I ceased my speedy descent, and the forces of gravity seemed to adjust themselves, sending me a short distance to the floor of a long, dark corridor.

Dizzy, I got to my feet, making sure that I wasn't walking on the wall, and took in my surroundings, but not seeing much due to the darkness. Seconds after, I jumped back as Don took his entry, sword in hand, but took about three seconds longer to stand up.

Fearing for his health in his age, I asked him if he was alright.

"Of that I am certain, Eddward," Don responded. "A mark of a true knight is in his persistence! The change in direction _was_ a sensation most unusual, however."

"Thank you," I said. "It will be in my interest to remember that. However, we must continue our movement. I have just the tool for this occasion." I took out the BRAIN 2750 from under my cap, explaining to Don that this was yet another example of scientific advancement. I placed the goggles onto my face, activating their night vision function.

"Stay close," was the quiet instruction I gave to Don. He nodded, and I shut the portal.

As we moved down the hall, I peered around at the posters adorning the walls, now clear through my goggles. They all held pictures and words that I was certain would have been observed to have the vibrancy of reds, blues, and others if viewed in the light of day, though my goggles only provided me with the world in shades and tints of green. They all had words describing good amounts of joy, words like "Celebrate!" and "Have Fun!" and "Pizza Time!", and in the lower right-hand corner of each poster were the words "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza".

However, the posters were not the most striking feature of this complex in which we were in current circulation. That which stuck out at me as would a sharpened spear was its appearance as a whole. It wasn't exactly drawn, but it wasn't precisely three-dimensional, either. It seemed as though we walked inside of some amazing impossibility, for the sight of this hallway seemed more impressive than the sight of my cul-de-sac from the roof of my school during a sunset.

That actually occurred in an episode, allow me to remind you.

A while later, about four minutes so, we both entered what appeared to be some sort of dining area, with an stage just three steps away, cleared of all things aside from a card table, an untouched pizza pie, four chairs with two facing each other, a banjo leaning against one of the chairs, and a small television lying on the floor, its channel set to some sort of vintage cartoon station. I would know this much, for I could see that it was still on when I approached the stage. Turning it off to prevent the wasting of power, I placed the goggles up on my forehead, due to the area being lit, then turned to my left to continue the search of this place, looking up to see a security camera, but one that was not in motion. In fact, it seemed as though it was not in use at all, since there was no red light to indicate its activity.

The camera was dead.

Hearing footsteps originating from another hallway attached to the room, and spotting a shadow traveling smoothly across the floor, we decided it best not to lose our cover, and so we headed down another hallway, one labeled with signs speaking the words "Restrooms" and "Security".

Not long on this excursion, we found a wooden door that had seemed to have been opened by some forceful means, deductible by the hole in its center and the ax on the floor. It appeared as though someone or something had cut the hole to unlock the door, judging by the design of the knob, whose interior lock would have made the room inaccessible by most other means. Looking inside this room, I saw a swivel chair facing away from a desk holding a great number of buttons and a group of television monitors, all of which were dark.

No doubt was present in my mind: this was the security office.

On the floor was a spilled can of an indeterminate beverage, and on the other side of the room was another door, also widely ajar, granting the room the appearance that somebody had left in a hurry, likely due to the assault on the previous door. The question was this: who would break into the security office of a children's pizzeria, and why?

I deduced that this answer I sought was of no grand importance, and so we continued our trek down the corridor until we reached a t-junction. As we approached, a growing chill began to make its dash throughout my being, as if some sort of supernatural presence was about to make itself known.

I peered around the corner, and using my goggles' binocular functions, I spotted a mass of writing on the right wall at the end of the passageway.

It was an additional set of coordinates, specifically _**BBB-#37490-718**_ …..and standing in front of it was what my eyes showed to be an animated, hulking mass of steel, pounded into the shape of some kind of bipedal canine, with some sort of horrific aura of fright emanating from its position. It possessed an eye patch, even with both eyes intact, and a hook hand, so that it looked like something like a werewolf in a cheaply made pirate movie, but based on the sound of its raspy, enraged breath reaching my ears, I could be certain that this was nothing like that. There were multiple places in which I could see through holes in its artificial skin to the endoskeleton and gears which held it all in place, and upon its legs, which both appeared to have flat, rectangular feet, appeared to be a beige paint job, giving the appearance of wearing a set of khaki shorts, with the rest of the body owning a scarlet hue. I saw that it had an immobile scowl stretching across its metallic face and a set of small blades where its teeth ought to have been placed, and its glowing, crimson eyes scanned over the writing on the wall with a glare that suggested that-

No, I told myself. Machines can't have thoughts.

Can they?

I retreated from the corner and set my device to the setting given on the wall, and after moving with Don to the end of the hallway to the right, away from the monstrosity he saw with me, I pressed down hard on the button...and it was at that moment that my nearly ruptured heart told me that I had messed up.

The sound of the universe tearing echoed down the hallway, and the thing eyeing the code sent its gaze towards me. For the seconds which felt like years, my body stood in that passage, paralyzed by the consternation which stabbed its fangs into the flesh and sent its venom spreading throughout me, as this villainous beast dropped its hinge of a jaw and began to break into a wild sprint towards its prey.

I stood like a dead tree.

It ran.

I became the same tree in an earthquake.

It ran.

Don grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the other world. I landed on my side some sort of hard surface, but what I landed on was not-

"Now! NOW! Seal it in now!" Don shouted at the summit of sound that his larynx could produce. I sat up with a jolt and stood to look back through the portal at the robotic creature which now was leaning forward and speeding up all the more, appearing to have knowledge of what I was prepared to do. His form grew closer, ever closer, with a desire I saw to taste human flesh and a foul stench I detected to suggest that it has done so before. I felt my senses return to me at that moment, and I slapped my palm upon the button before its red light entered my peripheral vision. The gate shrank, but the thing wasn't about to retreat. It panted the hardest it could ever seem to as it neared the rapidly dwindling dimensional doorway, and just as this passage was nearing its shutting phase, the thing leaped through the portal with unimaginable agility, its mouth emitting what I heard to be an unholy shriek.

I stared into its crooked face, my heart pounding a thousand times per second upon my rib cage, and almost as if it was a result of instinct, my lips let out a request for "SHIELDS!"

With this call, the thing sent its head into the repulsive force which now coated my form, and through my armor's power, I grabbed one of its arms and threw its body to my left, directly into a large pile of garbage bags in the alleyway that Don and I currently stood in, just as the passage to its own universe was finally blocked off.

It was right then and there, when the bolted being was buried in trash and the portal was nonexistent, that all feelings of terror ceased. Following a period of silence, I turned to Don to ask if he felt the same, to which he gave a surprised nod.

"In deepest reflection, it seemed as though this previous realm had been the source of this terrible trepidation, rather than what you just launched into that mass of darkness," Don said with a frown before gaining a look of immediate realization. "While I speak, why has it been that you have used your power of science to slay peoples in one world, but not in others?"

I informed him that this was because I didn't wish to cause much more damage than was absolutely necessary to protect both his life and mine or to outwit those whom we called our enemies, and the crude constables back in Los Santos took quite a bit to do so. After all, the only weapons installed in my armor were those of the lethal and highly explosive variety, so there was only room for them in instances where discretion and non-lethality were irrelevant. Also, I kindly explained to Don, a sword and a lance aren't exactly the only weapons needed in many scenarios, as he certainly ought to see by now.

"A fair point you have," Don replied.

Suddenly, the air rang out with the sound of a multitude of pained groans. I turned around many times over, searching for its source, when I heard the mentioned sound being added with the rustling of plastic bags and the clattering and crumpling of aluminum, paper, and plastic.

The sounds originated from the mound of refuse into which I had just thrown the thing who we saw as an adversary.

I rotated to the hoard of litter to witness the android rising up from underneath, to feel my lower jaw brush against the ground, and to feel my cardiovascular system fall still.

Where once existed an amalgamation of tempered steel was now placed a creature of red fur and a fluffy tail. What I once saw as paint was actually a real pair of beige shorts, supported at the waist by a black leather belt holding a golden buckle, and what my eyes once showed to be two flat feet were, in reality, a brown, buckled shoe on his right foot and a wooden peg in place of his left calf. The odors of blood and mucus had vanished, being replaced by a slight pinch of some kind of off-color cologne. As it massaged its cranium in agony, I could see that it possessed a face holding the same eye patch as before, but its teeth were much more modest and humanoid than the form I previously saw with my eyes, and its jaw was well attached to its skull and covered by its skin, rather than being crudely affixed by a hinge. Its nose was small, round, and dark, and when it opened its eyes, casting a glare in my direction, I could see that its eyes held no iris and only about 93 percent of a…..

"Almighty God, help me," I thought with a squeak emanating from my lips.

"Dude!" the thing exclaimed with a scratchy and somewhat forced-sounding voice. "What in the heck is wrong with you?!"

I opened my mouth to make an attempt to respond, but only a tormented breath came forth.

"It's bad enough that I'm given the rights of a slave, but now I'm given the rights of a soda can?!All I want are the answers for a couple questions! Is that too much to ask?!"

The eyes of this canine echoed an agonized wail from the creature whose life I had just two weeks ago brought to ruin, just as Mr. Don Quixote moved me to the side and stepped forward. He obviously viewed the combination of what seemed like a man and a dog as odd, but he took my command to never judge by appearance seriously, unlike me.

"We can see well the reason for your anger, good sir!" Don told the being. "You see, in the place you had once stood, your form held far more malice than it now possesses!"

The dog-man's brow arched up on one side.

"What are you saying?" he asked with suspicion.

"I merely say that where there is now fur of crimson, we, in your realm, viewed cold steel!" Mr. Quixote replied.

The wolf thing's eyes looked down to the ground for about ten seconds before a possibility came to his thoughts.

"Let's bring up the building schematics," he mumbled, closing his eyes. Don looked around for about 10 seconds, searching for a sheet of paper or the like, when the creature spoke once again.

"Thought ray projectors?" were his words as the closure between his eyelids loosened for a moment, before he re-tightened it to read more.

"'As an added deterrent against burglary, specially designed perception-altering devices have been installed at specified points in the walls of the facility, to be activated after closing and deactivated before opening (Appendix 2.63). The specific effect of these devices is to make all animatronics in the facility, who are free to roam its halls at night, look and sound terrifying to the senses of humans, as well as give them a foul odor (Appendix 2.64). The effect does not affect the perceptions of the robots themselves unless they look into a specially made mirror currently locked away in the supply closet (Appendix 2.65), nor does it affect their individual parts once said parts are dismantled (Appendix 2.66)' ...What exactly do we look like when...oh. Yikes." He opened his eyes once again. His anger had left the chasms of his eyes vacant, and shock took its place.

"I can see what you mean. Sorry about that," he stated before an instant of quiet, during which he cast his gaze at me, then at Don, and then performed that cycle once more. "Hate to spoil the tension, but who are you?"

"Who are we, you plead to know?" Don asked. "Our introduction is what you shall obtain!" He moved over to me and put his hand on my tremoring shoulder. "The wool-capped man you see before you is Sir Eddward, a man of science and of magnificent valor."

"Does it have to be 'Sir Eddward' or can it just be 'Edd'?" the robot inquired, evidently finding Don's vocabulary offsetting.

"Why, good sir, I would not know what he would prefer," Don answered before turning to me. "Eddward, would it be a bother to call you by the name which he has given?"

I didn't say a word, nor did I move an inch of my flesh. Both Don and the creature looked at me, concerned.

"Hey," the dog man called. "Are you okay?"

I stayed silent, feeling a sprig of moisture coming to my eyes.

"Look, if it's something about my hand or my leg, they've always been this way. I manage, alright?"

"Your eyes…" I finally managed to get forth.

"Say what?" the robot asked, confused, before my knees went to custard.

"I KNOW YOUR EYES!" I screamed, a flood of tears blasting to the concrete below me.

The animatronic drew back.

"Uhh..how?" he asked. "I-I've never seen you before!"

"Yes," Don said. "How can this be?"

Interspersed throughout my weeping, I told them both of the first time I toyed with this cosmic technology: the beaver thing, the button, the hands, everything. I told them that it was this incident which caused my formerly friendly foe to make use of a copy of my device, and that I was now on this incoherent mission as a form of penance.

Following this tale and 45 seconds more of tears, I managed to calm myself down enough to peer up, finding that both Don and the lycanthropic android had moved closer to me, and that Don had knelt down and placed his hand upon my shoulder.

"I can see the reason for your haste and bravery in all of this," Don replied. "They are not things which you would wish to show in most cases, but when the greatest necessity hearkens, you are willing to place your trivial desires and emotions to the side in order to act for the benefit of all. It not merely stands that you are simply leaving the comfort of all which you know to chase an evil man, a man who seeks to rule with a tyrant's hand, but you are willing to do so to correct a wrong which has occurred from an error which you had committed, and you care not what others would think of it. Gazing upon the subject, I feel that my own quest, my quest of love could also be penance."

I felt my head snap up at the very notion, and I would have asked how had he stopped there.

"You see, brother," he continued, "there was once a time when I had been called by a different name, a name which I can no longer recall. I would spend my days in my study, reading while ceasing to hold a care in my being, while just outside my window lied a realm running amok with hidden evils. Then, on one day and late into the night, a particular section of literature, one which I had previously left unattended, taught me of brave warriors who battled the dragons, the giants, the cruelty of the Earth, in order to achieve the peace of the realm and the love of the one they admire. I now journey to become as they were, a journey of love and of glory, free from the blindness by which I was once plagued. I have gained a beautiful woman whom I devote my heroic deeds towards, as well as a newfound courage which had never filled my being before. Of course, there exist moments when I would rather be back in my study, back to my olden ways. But I do what must be done, not allowing desire to overcome me. This is a mark of a true knight, a mark which places itself onto you. And for this, I am quite proud of you."

"Th-thank you," I responded, wiping my face.

"Look," the robot said, ashamed, "I'm sorry I flew off the handle, okay?"

"You had a perfect reason to be angry!" I informed him. "I launched you into a trash heap!"

"Good point," he replied before thinking back to Don. "Hey, wait! This other guy never introduced himself!"

"Oh, how rude of me!" Don replied. "I am known throughout my world as Don Quixote de La Mancha! However, I have given enough of my identity. We wish to know that by which those in your realm call _you._ "

"Well, that depends," the machine answered. "If you're two of Freddy Fazbear Incorporated's chief mechanics, you might call me Unit F Model 05847."

We both told him the truth.

"Well, in that case," he replied, protruding his hook hand, "you can just call me Foxy. Save yourselves a headache."

"But what value would a headache be?" Don replied.

"What?" Foxy asked, confused.

"Why would a man wish to save a headache like he would save a coin? It would only bring him prolonged agony," Don answered.

I informed Don that this was a figure of speech meaning that we ought to try not to cause ourselves more stress than needed. Don gained a look of understanding upon him, nodding before taking and shaking Foxy's barb of a hand. I did the same as Don poked his head outside the alley to see where we were.

"You know," Foxy told me, "I've seen a lot of movies involving this kind of portal thing on my little TV."

"It was yours?" I asked. "I turned it off to save power."

Foxy nodded, and he turned to look at the wall he jumped from.

"It doesn't look like there's any turning back now," he said. "I do have a few things that could be of use for you guys, though I don't usually use them."

I requested that he show me an example. With that, he rummaged through one of the bags he was thrown upon moments ago, retrieving a sturdy tin can with his finger-ridden hand.

"Watch this," he said before clearing his throat and standing like a soldier. "Left Hand, Forty-Five Percent." At the very command, the canister was crushed and crumpled as if it was made of paper, before Foxy released his grip and the cylinder, now a sphere, bounced upon the ground. My eyes went wide with shock.

"I know what you're thinking," Foxy said. "But this stuff's not cost-free. As one part of me gets stronger, the others start doing the opposite. I can get stronger and faster and more durable, but not all at the same time… ugh. To think that the humans of where I came from can put a man on a big rock orbiting the Earth, but they can't do so much as make a robot as tough as he would want it!"

I inquired to know what his power was like without adjustment, to which he gave the response that it was something approximate to a healthy, athletic human. I nodded, looking down at the ground.

"I see," I told him quietly, still feeling somewhat ashamed. "Again, I apologize. The illusion just seemed so authentic."

"Dude, it's fine," Foxy said, sounding a bit annoyed. "Do you humans really judge what's real using only your senses?"

I informed him that that's the definition of reality in most cases. If we can see it, smell it, hear, taste and touch it, then it therefore must be real!

Foxy shook his head.

"Pal, if that's what's defined as real to a human, then reality to you is just an impulse of some squishy thing in your head," he replied.

I saw that he had made a valid point, and I told him this much. He thanked me, telling me that he appreciated his point of view being respected, unlike how it was back where he came from.

"You see, Edd, the leader of my group, Freddy, doesn't like somebody having different ideas from his. If somebody suggests against something he wants to do, he just flat-out ignores it, even if what he wants to do it just plain stupid."

"Such as….?" I asked.

"I mean something like this: every week for the past year and a half, Freddy's been trying to make friends with every new security guard who gets himself hired for the night shift. Thing is, there's two problems, one of which was just shown to me. One: the guard is there to work, not to make friends. He's just in this to get paid. Second, with how ugly we look at night, I doubt that he'd even be tempted. And yet, after one and a half years of failing, that goon still finds it appropriate to keep right on trying, even if that means doing something like cutting a hole in the door to the security office. Don't get me wrong, it would be nice if humans and robots could be equals. I think it would make us robots less like property and more like people. But until that happens, we ought to leave these guards alone and let them do their job! But no, Freddy says. Where's the fun in that, Freddy says…..do you see where I'm going with this?"

I nodded, telling him that it reminded me of a few friends of mine, who once liked to concoct methods of swindling the other children of my neighborhood out of their hard-earned money against my deepest wishes.

"Aw, man...wait. Other children? You mean, you're just a kid?" he asked.

I told him that was correct, and that I've been around fourteen years old since 1999. He stared at me with wide eyes.

"Ohhhhh...kay," he replied, sounding deeply disturbed. "Do your parents know you're gone?"

I informed him that I had once been gone long periods of time before, such as when a friend of mine angered the others into hunting us across multiple biomes, and that neither Mother nor Father had shown very much concern.

"Alrighty, then," Foxy replied. Following this and a brief hesitation, he opened his mouth to speak once more, only to be halted by Don rushing up to our gathering.

"Companions, friends, brothers!" Don shouted. "A man in black and gold is dashing around, proclaiming the arrival of a 'Conrad Birdie,' and screaming women are rushing to follow him. I suggest that we make an arrival ourselves. It could very well possess a clue to get to our next intended realm." We looked out of the alley and saw that young women, all about the age of high-schoolers and wearing poodle skirts, were sprinting past, squealing with excitement. They all appeared even more realistic than Don, though he himself didn't pay attention to that fact. It was quite possible that we had simply failed to hear them over our conversation. We all decided to follow, with Foxy stating that anything would be better than the old grind.

We jogged out from behind the alley, following the final girl to pass by, so as not to attract attention. The denizens of this world might not take kindly to the anomaly of our presence. As we ran, I took notice of the precision of Foxy's animation. Every step, every movement, every breath moved his body with a paranormal ease that my own animators could have only dreamt of.

After about 2 full minutes of running, we all found ourselves, all except Foxy breathing fire due to the speed needed to keep up, standing behind a small crowd of identically-dressed schoolgirls near a train station. Looking over their shoulders, we noticed a man with groomed, blonde hair in a tailored suit, a woman with short, brown hair in an ironed, velvet dress, and another man bearing a greasy, black hairstyle and sporting a leather jacket and blue jeans. Surely, I thought, the man in the suit is Conrad Birdie. It's ordinary for a woman to feel attraction to a man of style and-

"Hey, Conrad! Over here!" a reporter emerging from the group called, approaching the man with the leather jacket. "How do you feel about going into the army?"

We then heard a laugh, laced with angst, from the man in the suit.

Now, here's where things start getting odd.

"How does he feel, you ask how he feels? He's much too shy to tell you, so I'll tell you how he feels!" he stated repetitively, stepping in front of Conrad. It was all said directly on the rhythm of an unseen orchestra which we didn't hear until the man began talking. We all lifted a brow, though the others in the crowd didn't seem to be disturbed one bit.

"He feels... _ **brave and eager, strangely humble, proud to be a plain G.I!**_ " the man sang. Don, Foxy, and I all flinched at the complete randomness of this action, at this sudden outburst of song, and I knew that one of us would have said something about this man being off his rocker-

" _ **He will gladly, face those bullets, for he's not afraid to die!**_ " the woman in the velveteen dress intoned.

" _ **For he's a fine, upstanding, patriotic, healthy, normal American boy!**_ " the chorus of skirted women around us trilled in their snarkiest voices.

Foxy leaned over to my ear, exactly as shocked as I.

"Are they just making this up as they go?" he asked. I shrugged, lacking an answer.

" _ **We love you, Conrad! Oh, yes we do! We love you, Conrad, and we'll be true! When you're not near us, we're blue! Oh, Conrad, we love you!**_ " the females around us sang, even more nasally than before.

"Very nice!" the man in the suit said, smiling and applauding.

The reporter then requested a story concerning Conrad and a Hollywood actress, asking to know whether or not the two are engaged. A murmur arose from the crowd.

"I-is he engaged? Is Conrad engaged? There's absolutely _nothing_ to the rumor he's engaged!" the woman spoke.

" _ **She's a real pal, like a sister! But it doesn't mean a thing!**_ " sang the suited man. " _ **And that 18-karat diamond, it was just a friendship ring!**_ "

"I feel uncertain of your views," Don whispered as the crowd began to sing again, "but my mind holds a doubt that a diamond would be a symbol of any ordinary friendship."

I nodded.

" _ **We love you, Conrad! Oh, yes we do! We love you, Conrad, and we'll be true!**_ " the crowd belted once more, a bit faster than before.

The suited man, who revealed himself to be a Mr. Peterson, then proclaimed that he'd never forget what Conrad said when he found out he'd been welcomed into the army. According to , Conrad said that he'd like to be assigned to the front lines to kill "one of those dirty jerries...o-or whoever's dirty this time."

I looked to this Conrad Birdie, who was now fidgeting around, rapidly shifting his gaze from east to west, and reaching into his back pocket.

"Hey, Mr. Peterson, give us a scoop. Is Conrad still drinking a lot?" asked one of the reporters. The girls in the audience around us let out shorts yelps of shock.

"Now listen here! This gossip must stop! He goes to church each Sunday, and he doesn't touch a drop!" the fine-dressed woman emitted as she reached behind Conrad and grabbed what he was trying to obtain.

" _ **He's as decent as a minister!**_ " Mr. Peterson sang.

The lady tossed the object from behind Conrad's back into the air as she gave a word of approval.

" _ **He's as sober as a judge!**_ "

The object shined as it reached the summit of its ascent.

" _ **He subscribes to ev'ry charity!"**_

The object struck Foxy in the chest, and he stumbled about a short distancewhile getting a hold of it, quite difficult with a hook hand.

" _ **And his hobby's making fudge!**_ "

As the choir began again, we took a gander at the thing which Foxy had just caught. It was a small, silver flask which, when shaken, was revealed to contain some sort of liquid. Foxy, wishing to know the type of liquid, removed the stopper and wafted the vapors to his nose.

"Whiskey," he stated softly. "Alcohol."

"This Conrad Birdie is not the saint he's claimed to be," Don replied.

"Nor is this Mr. Peterson," I replied, peering at the flask.

I almost jumped with surprise as I found that scratched into its surface was yet another code:

 _ **LFD-#29379-295.**_

Upon my informing, Foxy and Don were also struck dumb.

"Well, holy cow," Foxy quietly replied.

"A holy cow?" Don asked. "Where do you look?"

"That's also a figure of speech, Don," Foxy answered. "It's a kind of a...what's the term- an exclamation, a-a few words of surprise."

Don looked at Foxy with a raised brow and brought his hand to his chin with a look of contemplation.

"I see," Don replied before he let out a quick gasp and swiped the flask. "Hold! Wouldn't you know what this means?"

Foxy shrugged, but I knew well.

It meant, and I explained, that though the events of each world are different, the rate of time never changes. This was evident in how something possessed by one who is guarded has been tampered with, seemingly without anyone's knowledge.

"Wait," Foxy said. "If the guy we're after always enters and leaves the places he goes to earlier than us,.. and if he takes another guy from most worlds he goes to, then-"

"We may be far too slow," Don said with a frown.

"I would not fret if I were you," I told them both.

"If he's as enthusiastic as he seems about being a villain, then he'll certainly yearn for some great final conflict. Judging by what I have seen in the two of you, as long as we stand together, we shouldn't have too great of a problem."

I also told him who our greatest enemy was, who Johnny 2x4 was, how he always liked a spotlight and talked to a wooden board, and my two allies let out sighs of relief.

"Well, that proves that not many will join him unless they're just crazy," Foxy mused.

We nodded quickly.

" _ **American…American Booooooooy!**_ " the choir finished as we walked away.

We entered into another alley, entering the code and activating the portal.

I turned to look at my traveling mates to see if they were ready, and I saw that Foxy was snickering to himself.

"What would be the cause for this amusement?" Don asked.

"It's...it's just that...I'll tell you when we get out of here," Foxy replied, trying his best not to burst into a fit of laughter.

We did so, entering into a rooftop on a skyscraper overlooking a massive city. The sky was bright orange, despite the sun being high in the sky, and the whole of the urban landscape was bathed in the reek of decay. The other buildings in the area were cracked and crumbled, and as I moved near the edge of the roof and peered down after deactivating the portal, I found that the street was crawling with what appeared to be a multitude of shambling corpses, or zombies, as Ed would have put it.

In the distance, a group of helicopters flew about, but these were not chasing as some did in Los Santos; they were searching.

They sought survivors in a world left for dead.

My gaze rolled over the areas touched by the sunlight, the final illumination in this darkened world, when I heard Don exclaim, "My word!"

I turned back to face my companions, and saw Foxy grinning with his eyes closed and Don with a hand to his own cheek.

"Alright, now hear this: do you remember that whole thing about being 'as decent as a minister'?" Foxy asked, opening his eyes.

Don supplied affirmation.

"That's also a lie. Plus, according to the sensors, the truth is that he once hade sex with 4 women in one afternoon!" Foxy said before finally breaking and proceeding to laugh himself to tears.

"Would it be that you laugh merely at the degree of absurdity?!" Don asked, failing to see the humor in the reality.

"Yes!" Foxy shouted, only ceasing his laughter for the time needed to say this.

"Ah," Don replied, nodding his head. "I suppose that reason is valid, Foxy."

I approached the two and cleared my throat. They both looked at me, and Foxy stopped laughing.

"Are you blind?" I asked, motioning to the surrounding apocalypse.

"Wha- No!" Foxy retorted. "I was just telling Don about my lie detector!"

He also told me of the way in which it was special: it also senses the exact changes in the speaker's vitals and uses them to calculate what said speaker knows about the truth.

I admitted that this could prove useful in the future, but also that he ought to reserve it for when it is, rather than use it for jest.

"Oh, alright," Foxy said, disappointed, before looking at his surroundings. "Okay, we should probably find the inter-dimensional code

thing-a-ma-bob."

Don looked at him, appearing as confused as he was in concern to the saving of a migraine.

"What's wrong now?" Foxy asked him with a groan.

"I shall easily regret answering with more questions," Don replied, "but what is an 'okay', and what is a 'thing-a-ma-bob'?"

Foxy sighed in annoyance, explaining to him that "okay" means the same as "alright" and that a "thing-a-ma-bob" is an object, usually one whose nature is hard to determine.

"Ah! Thank you," Don responded. "Your dialect is one most foreign to my land."

"Yes," Foxy told Don, trying to speak slowly, so as to do so in a way that he could understand. "It's what can be called 'American English' or 'slang'. I just happen to use a lot of it."

"I understand," Don said. "In advance, I offer you my apology should you become further annoyed by my asking. It only stands that it's unusual to my ears."

"Sure," Foxy replied. "Thanks."

I cleared my throat, louder than before, and the two saw my foot tap.

Foxy nodded, and turning to where the portal had just been, we found a door on a cubed structure which sat on the roof where we stood. I informed the two about the zombies, telling Don exactly what one is, and Foxy said that he saw a lot of those on his TV. Don asked what this was, and Foxy essentially told him that it's a box that can be sent moving pictures through metal cables. Don was impressed by this marvel, explaining what he saw back in Los Santos, to Foxy's overall annoyance but slight intrigue.

"Anyway," Foxy explained, "the TV showed me that zombies can come from one of three sources: voodoo magic, radioactive catastrophe, or a virus. In case it's the third, I highly suggest you two avoid getting bit."

"We shall indeed try," Don replied.

"What about you?" I asked Foxy.

"That's another nice thing about being a robot," he answered. "My body's not made of cells, and cells are needed for any human disease or poison to take hold. Basically, I'm immune to all human illnesses, as well as all poisons."

"If you would not be composed of these 'cells', then what _would_ make your being?" Don asked.

Foxy replied that he was composed of a titanium endoskeleton surrounded by a casing of wiring, gears and other devices covered with rubber to act as his skin and a synthetic fiber as his fur.

"You _are_ composed of hard metal under your flesh?" Don said, amazed at the thought. "You must be invincible!"

Foxy scoffed.

"Don't make me laugh," Foxy said sarcastically. "I can die, alright. I've died before."

Don and I both flinched, taking a step back.

"Be still for but a moment, brother," Don said. "Are you giving the suggestion that you have visited the realm of the dead in the past?"

Foxy stated in reply that being a machine, and therefore, lacking a soul, he will always be revivable unless all of his parts are completely destroyed. After returning from each of his deaths, he claimed, he felt like he took a long nap.

"Oh," Foxy said, "That reminds me…"

He closed his eyes once again, and ten seconds later, a large sheet of paper came forth from the front lip of his khakis, which he collected and handed to me.

It was a blueprint.

His blueprint.

Looking at Don, I could see that he was quite startled by where the document came from, though a set of pants which I had both designed and worn at a birthday party had a similar function.

"Sorry if that was a bit obscene, but...you know. I need a smart sort of guy to hold on to this just in case. Anymore questions?" Foxy asked.

"Yes," I said, stowing the blueprint in the pocket of my suit. "If you don't have a soul or any other human component, how is it that you can think, move, and talk as you please?"

He shrugged before saying that that's not our greatest concern. The most pressing issue was getting the code and moving to our next world.

We agreed, with myself preparing my suit for combat, Foxy grabbing and pulling up on his belt, and Don drawing his sword.

Then, we opened the door and started on our descent down the stairs.

We traversed quietly, listening for the shuffling of undead soles upon the floors of stone and tile. We opened our ears, our eyes, our noses for any sign of reanimation, and heard, saw, scented….nothing. In our motion down 14 flights, there was no smell, no sound, no indication whatsoever of any sort of any activity but our own steps on the stairs. Knowing of the hoards in the street, however, we knew not to drop our guard.

However, we indeed began to hear a sound traveling down the 15th flight: one that failed to sound in sync with our steps.

Clank, clonk, clank, clonk, clank, clonk.

The ring of these dented, metallic bells shook the air with a greatening strength as we walked down the final three flights of stairs to the ground floor. I held a difficulty to contain a feeling combining the fear of what could be found and the excitement for discovery, and casting a minuscule peek at my comrades, I could see through their expressions that their struggle was identical.

We reached a doorway at the epitome of descension, and the sounds mingled themselves with the following: Vrrrrr-BBBBBBBBBBBBB-rrrrv.

"My word!" Don whispered in utter surprise. "What sound in all the realms has pierced my ears?"

"It sounded like a machine gun," Foxy replied quietly. "A minigun, specifically."

"It sounds quite large to me," I told him.

"I know," Foxy replied again. "It's a stupid name."

"Indeed, brother," Don replied as he lifted his blade to prepare a strike for our currently unseen foe. Foxy looked away and rolled his eyes before smiling lightly.

"Heh, 'brother'," he said in a voice unnoticed by Don. "I could get used to that."

With that, Foxy stretched his neck, I gulped meekly, and all of us headed into the gunsmoke of the ground floor.

As our feet found their way into the room, we found ourselves standing among thousands of bits of zombified matter, made dead once more by bullets, evident through the many holes in both them and the area around them. The decorations of the room, which included flower boxes, a grand fountain, and a humongous chandelier, had all been badly damaged. Strewn among them were overturned tables and broken chairs, and in the center of it all stood an armored figure, seemingly more well so than I, carrying a colossal, multi-barreled gun in his grasp. The armor was black in color, and the helmet was one of an odd shape. Even more odd, though, was the fact that this figure's art style did not match that of his surroundings. While the area was created in three dimensions, this character was made in two.

Regardless of the way he looked, it was the way in which he aimed his gun at us and revved it again that proved that this man was not wanting to be friendly.

" _Move!"_ yelled Foxy as he grabbed Don's arm, as he didn't appear to be knowing what a gun was, but as he was dragged into our dash for cover by Foxy's hand, the stream of bullets approaching behind us and the monstrous snarl of the weapon showed him that it was a weapon to be feared. We managed to get protection from one of the flower boxes, just as the sparks made by the bullets on the ground jabbed at our legs. As we laid prone behind the structure which the minigun assailed, Foxy asked me what we ought to do now. I thought it over for a moment or so before an idea lent me its embrace.

I hastily whispered directions for our plan of action to Don and Foxy, with a few questions about what Foxy can do. He claimed that besides his internal adjustments, he also possesses a multitude of gadgets and weapons in one convenient place. I asked whether this weighed him down, to which he claimed only that I wasn't the only one who had interdimensional things.

At that, I let out a sigh. It turned out that my "invention" was already an other-worldly creation.

"Farewell, Nobel Prize," I thought.

I requested Foxy to use these hidden weapons he possesses, but he seemed quite uncomfortable about doing so, claiming that where it comes from might be a little bit-

"Listen!" I demanded. "Our survival is more important than presentation! Do you understand?"

"Alright," Foxy replied after a flustered moan. "You won't like the sight, though."

"I personally don't care," I replied, before Don agreed. "Now, are we clear on the plan?"

The other two nodded, and as the soil from the flower box began to spill onto us, I activated my suit's jet boosters and shot into the air. Then I released a missile from my wrist to the floor near our foe's location, causing him to stop firing and nearly knocking him off of his feet. He turned his attention to me and aimed his gun, only for me to activate the shields of my armor and make myself impervious to the attack. Regardless, he still attempted to shoot me until Foxy hopped out from behind cover.

"Casing, Fifty-five Percent!" he commanded, receiving the attention of the enemy we now faced. The attacker spun about to fire at Foxy, only for the bullets to be repelled by Foxy's unarmored chest. Foxy himself then closed his eyes and reached down.

He then cast a wide, toothy smile at our adversary, unzipping his shorts and bringing forth a large firearm, one almost identical to the one carried by our adversary, with one exception: this gun had two ammunition drums rather than just one, and the way in which they had been positioned made it appear like...like-

"Mental note," I thought. "When Foxy says his own powers are disgusting, please listen."

At any rate, sickening as it was, Foxy used his gun to distract the enemy with hails of bullets upon his armor, apparently at an even higher rate of fire than our opponent's variety, possibly due to the extra drum.

Or perhaps it was just my perception. I'm not sure.

As Foxy fired, he moved slowly around his target, eventually causing said target to turn his back on Don, who was as disgusted as I, though still determined to follow through on his portion of the plan.

For about 5 more minutes, my missiles and Foxy's nauseating turret kept our combatant at bay while Don searched for a weak point in the armor, as I had directed.

Just then, Don raised his sword and dashed out to the gunman, stabbing through a gap in the suit's leg joint. Sparks flew from the interior, and the shooter fell down on one knee. Don then sheathed his blade and grabbed a portion of the suit's back, twisting and pulling with all his might. The man within the suit, seeming to know what Don was trying to do, launched into the air with jet boosters of his own, though these were on his back rather than on his feet, and he carried Don with him.

It was at that moment, however, when our adversary came within 10 feet of the ceiling, that Don finally pushed away. He had succeeded in taking what he wished to, something looking like a fuel canister, stopping the boosters and sending the two of them plummeting down.

Scared for Don's safety, I bolted towards the two, took Don around the waist as I once had before, and flew with him away from the armored assailant as he finally crashed to the floor, suit and all.

The mech now inert, we all moved towards it, with Foxy stowing his gun back in his pants and restoring his hydraulics to their original settings.

"Hey, don't say I didn't warn you," Foxy said to me after I set Don down, seeing the look on my face. "That's just a little of a pretty thing called 'sick humor'. Compliments of Mr. Max Gilardi."

I informed him that a man of a somewhat similar-sounding name, Antonucci, was the origin of my world, and I asked if this Max Gilardi was _his_ creator.

"Depends on what you mean," he answered. "If you mean the creator of _my_ character, then yes. If you mean the creator of _the_ character, then no."

"What does _that_ mean?" I asked, bemused.

"I'm sure you can figure it out," he said, and of it, he said no more.

We knelt down near the suit. It was obvious that whoever was in the suit was still alive, due to his breathing and muffled voice.

Foxy, Don, and I grabbed the helmet, and using our combined strength, we managed to tear the helmet off of the man's head.

Looking upon his true face, we could see that he held wavy, blonde hair atop his scalp, with black, curved lines where sideburns would normally hang.

His face bore a small, pointed nose and a mouth which, at its widest motions, had its corners due south of his eyes, which were small, oval-shaped, and, at that moment, bright white.

"Must obey," the man said weakly in monotone. "Destroy Eddward. Kill...kill...kill."

"Seems like he's under some kind o' mind control," Foxy said. "I saw it on TV. Lemme try something."

It was at these words that he dragged the armored man to the fountain, about 5 feet away, and leaned him over its lip, grabbing a handle on the armor with his hook hand. Then, he splashed the water hard with his other hand, sending a wave right into the man's face.

The man immediately began coughing and sputtering, snapping back to reality.

"Hey!" the man shouted before pausing in shock.

"There we go!" Foxy said with a smile as he lay the man back down on the dry floor. "Welcome back from la-la land!"

Don, who had spent these moments inspecting the fuel canister, moved alongside me over to the man whom Foxy had just awoken.

His facial features were the same as before, except that his eyes were now both black as night, with them both morphing into small downward curved lines with every blink. Plastered onto the man's face was a visage of pure shock.

"Is something wrong?" I asked him.

"So….so that's what I sound like!" he replied.

Don gazed upon him with an untainted wrath upon his expression.

"Would _that_ be your greatest concern?!" Don yelled. "Should you not be concerned with the notion that you have attempted to cease the breaths of our lungs and the rhythms of our hearts, that you had attempted to kill us all?!"

"I...I did?" the man asked, confused, before looking down and seeing that he was wearing armor, and finding his minigun which he had dropped, along with the bullet holes in the floor and walls.

There was no doubt about it: the reality horrified this man.

"Oh my Lord!" he yelled. "I'm so sorry...I-I-I mean it all just….oh, almighty God!"

"Hey, dude, it's alright," Foxy told him. "We could see that you weren't home upstairs. Just tell us what you can remember, and everything will turn out fine, okay?"

"Okay...okay," the man says, doing his best to calm down. "Let's see….I was inside a bar, talking with some guy about some stuff he could give me: food, water, power armor parts….then I was called out by this snarky sounding guy...can't remember what he looked like. Then there was some kind of swirly pattern… and that's all I remember."

"Hold on!" I said. "You saw a swirling pattern?"

"Yes," he replied.

I looked away, and I felt a rage of my own boil over.

"What has he done?" I mumbled under my breath.

"What's that?" the man asked me.

My head snapped back.

"Oh, Johnny, what have you done?!" I yelled at the ceiling.

"Who...?" he asked.

"The one we are after!" I said. "He took a copy of my machine after a slip-up I made, and now we have to stop him from causing complete multiversal destruction!"

"How does that explain the swirl?" he asked.

"He must have taken something else from my world," I answered. "The hypnotizing wheel!"

"Oh," he replied, before pausing and saying, "That can't be good!"

"Wait a second," Foxy said before closing his eyes, opening them a few seconds later. "Okay, he's an honest man."

"You have utilized what you call a lie detector!" Don observed, relieved. "T'was a fine idea!"

"Thanks," Foxy said, quite proud of himself.

"In any case, we can't afford to allow too much of this to happen," the little man said. "It's comparable to how the commies brainwash their own pinko kin."

"Ah!" Don said before pausing for a second himself. "What is a commie and a pinko?"

The man stared at Don, startled.

"You don't know?!" he retorted.

"He's not from your era," I explained.

"Indeed, I am not," Don affirmed.

"Then...when _are_ you from?" the man inquired.

"Based on his talking, it sounds like the Renaissance era," Foxy replied.

"True, my home resides in _a_ renaissance, though should it be _the_ Renaissance you speak of, that I cannot say," Don responded.

"Well, commies and pinkos are the same thing," the man said. "They're the kind of people who want to force others to be equal in everything! Money, property, everything! To some, it sounds like peaches and cream, but those in charge of it always rig it in favor of themselves, leaving the common people to muddle through life in hunger and misery!"

"But if that is true, how can all be equal?" Don asked.

"That's the point!" the man said. "In communism, only the heads of state are equal in the good way!"

"Well, Johnny wishes to make the evils of other worlds equal to himself _and_ to make them all the ones in charge of all things, though I don't think that he wishes to make those below him equal in any respect!" I told him.

"Well, as an American, I feel it's a duty of mine to do all I can to stop and prevent any and all forms of tyranny!" the man yelled bravely.

"Another ally, perhaps?" Don asked.

"He proved he can use a gun," Foxy said matter-of-factly.

"He could at least provide _some_ assistance," I decided.

However, before we could allow him to follow, we needed one final portion of knowledge.

We inquired to know this man's name.

"Oh, right!" he said. "That would be nice for you guys to know. My name's Vault Boy."

We all frowned.

"Is that your _name_ or your _brand-name?_ " I asked.

"It's **both**!" answered the man.

Foxy closed his eyes again, opening them both wide with surprise.

"Again, he's telling the truth!" Foxy affirmed.

I looked at Foxy, then at Vault Boy, then at the camera, and then back at Vault Boy.

"My word," I said quietly.

"I know," Vault Boy replied.

We kept ourselves shut up for a sentence of a few seconds.

"So….can I come with you?" Vault Boy requested to know.

Foxy, Don and I all looked at each other.

We nodded, and we looked at Vault Boy, smiling.

"Welcome aboard!" Foxy said.

"Alright!" Vault Boy said happily as he tried to stand, but was reminded that he was still in a powerless suit.

He didn't ask that he be lifted out, but only that he be turned onto his stomach. We did so with little difficulty due to our teamwork, and the back of the suit opened up, allowing Vault Boy to climb out.

Now unarmored, it could be observed that the clothing he wore was a matching set of blue clothing, with a yellow line wrapping around the neck, running down his midsection and circling his waist, and that his tiny feet were contained in black shoes. Attached to his wrist was an unusual device, one seeming like the matrimony between a wristwatch and an alien spacecraft.

"I see you're looking at my Pip-Boy," he said, shaking that wrist around a bit. "Based on the look on your face, I take it you haven't seen it before."

I told him, that, indeed, I had not.

He told me that it's his most valuable tool, even more so than his power armor.

"If that's so, why were you looking for pieces to the armor when you got hypnotized?" Foxy asked.

"Because it looks awesome, okay?" Vault Boy replied, obviously feeling quite dumb about the fact.

"It indeed instilled awe," Don replied.

"Then again, it might weigh us down too much, maybe literally. It requires a constant switch of its Fusion Core, which you over there took away," Vault Boy told Don.

"Should we leave it behind, then?" I asked.

Vault Boy though for a moment, and then he shrugged and nodded.

"One last question," Foxy informed Vault Boy. "Why were you so surprised that you could hear yourself talk? To me, that's like being surprised that you can see color when you've always had the ability to!"

"I can't make sound where I come from, and neither can anyone else!" Vault Boy said.

He then explained that the company he works for, Vault-Tec, has him featured in posters and silent black-and-white films. Since he's not allowed to speak in either medium, for fear that viewers could be fooled into saying exact words, he's never been able to hear his own voice or anyone else's voice until now. To this point, his greatest expressions were facial and motor.

"You have a motor?" Foxy asked.

"What? No," Vault Boy replied. "Motor expression just means expression using the physical body, such as the hands, like this."

He then extended his arm, stuck up his thumb, and smiled.

"What does this mean to you?" Vault Boy asked.

"In my language, 't's all good," Foxy answered, finally understanding.

"Yes, that's one meaning," Vault Boy replied. "However, my years working for Vault-Tec have taught me another."

"Which is….?" Foxy wished to know.

"If a bomb blast or any other disaster looks bigger than your thumb while it's in this position, then you'd better book it, meaning you should get away," Vault Boy informed us before gaining a visage of worry. "And judging by what I can see, we should look out for what's right over there!"

We all took a glance at the area where he looked to see that a ginormous, possibly mutated zombie was approaching one of the room's large windows from the outside, prepared to smash itself in.

" **Ogre!** " Don shouted as he raised his blade to charge, but before I grabbed him by the arm, telling as the four of us ran away that one measly sword might not be able to defeat something quite that big and that the thing's speed would prevent us from preparing ourselves for conflict.

The window became a firework, its broken glass forming its elaborate design in the air, and the monstrosity roared as it took the empty power armor into its one giant arm, mistaking it for a person, and began to slam it repeatedly upon the floor.

We stayed behind the cover of some sort of service desk, peeking up to watch the ordeal from time to time.

"How do we get the code now?" Foxy said.

"What code?" Vault Boy asked.

I took out the machine and informed him how it worked.

"Oh," Vault Boy said, and began to try to think of a plan.

As he did, his hand wound up sliding into his pocket. The sound of crumpling paper came from within.

Vault Boy, quite surprised, pulled out the note and read its contents to himself before showing it to me.

"Would this be of help?" he asked.

"Double D," I read aloud before hearing Foxy emit an immature chuckle.

I sighed and read on.

"If you are reading this, then you're a better fighter than I thought, and so are the friends you might have. In order to have read this, you probably either killed this guy or found some way to snap him out of his trance. In case you are wondering, yes, I took the hypnotizing wheel. Anyway, the point I made with the bringing of this guy is that I've gotten bored of everything always being the way it should be when you arrive. So, I decided to up the ante a bit. If I think that the world is too boring to give you a challenge, I'll just enter a random code to another world from my machine and bring something nifty from that world to the one you will go to. Nifty for me, not for you. If you really want to keep going, the code is _**SWS-#37389-590.**_ I don't want to mess up an actual challenge, since in that world, there are laser beams flying everywhere. I'm only getting a peek of it as I write this, but it looks dangerous enough for you without me needing to bring anything else into it. And so, once again, good luck. And again, you'll need it.

Sincerely,

The Gourd and Timber the Dark Shard."

We all stayed silent, the noise of the monster a background symphony.

"What does this mean?" Vault Boy finally asked.

Foxy looked at the ground, frowned, and slowly wagged his tail.

Don Quixote, Vault Boy, and I all held a hand to our chins.

We all knew what it meant except Vault Boy, though we hesitated in its delivery.

"It means we'll need to get ourselves ready for anything," Foxy finally said. "And by anything, I mean **anything**."

"Would you happen to mean things such as dragons and ogres?" Don asked, displaying his sword.

"Yes, and more," Foxy replied.

"Commies?" Vault Boy said, grinning and cracking his knuckles.

"Maybe," Foxy returned. "Odds are we'll only know what when the time comes. And speaking of knowing things, we haven't told you _our_ names, have we?"

Vault Boy shook his head, and at that, we informed him of our identities. Don still referred to me as Sir Eddward, but Foxy told Vault Boy to call me what he'd like.

Vault Boy smiled, and his head performed an affirmative gesture.

"Well, then, what are we waiting for?" he said.

I nodded, entering the coordinates into the machine and opening the portal on the wall. It was then that we heard a particularly horrific crash.

We peered over the counter once again, seeing the power armor in pieces. The monster caught sight of us, and it began to charge towards us with a bloodcurdling roar.

At that moment, Vault Boy reached into a holster on his hip, one which I didn't see before, pulling out a handgun.

He then held his wrist up and glanced at what he called his Pip-Boy, which bore an image of the freak, with areas flashing green.

He then released the whole of the gun's magazine into the mutant's chest, and the thing collapsed to the floor.

We all stared on at Vault Boy's display of incredible skills he turned towards us and stowed his gun away. He also took a final glance at the pile of scrap which used to be an asset of his.

"Well," Vault Boy said, motioning to the armor, "now we _really_ should leave it."

"Amen," the rest of us said, surprised that this friendly man could be as nonchalant as he was about the situation.

Nonetheless, we all sent looks into the depths of the portal, seeing what appeared to be a hallway with a window overlooking outer space.

Vault Boy rolled his shoulders back a few times.

"Like I said, what are we waiting for?" he asked as we stepped through the portal and I sealed it behind us.

We knew only a shred of what to expect in this strange new place, but we also knew that we had to keep moving. If Johnny wishes to do as much as he did in the last world to slow us down, we must make more haste than we had before. The very threads of reality were beginning to unravel as we stood. I knew well that our group was one formed from some of the most random patches of this multiverse, but as I had once told Foxy and Don, and as I then told Vault Boy, as long as we worked together, our triumph would be near certainty.

And so, as the team of a child prodigy, a knight, a robotic fox, and a company mascot, we stood as one, or, at the very least, we vowed a courageous attempt.

 **To be continued….**


End file.
